


jump a lil higher

by snsk



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Radio, Romance, Slow Burn, radio dj dan, radio producer phil, so much pining!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan co-hosts The Breakfast Show. Phil's his new producer. They fall in love, assisted by a bunch of romcom tropes I refuse to apologise for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dan's favourite coffee kiosk serves him his caramel macchiato decaffeinated for some inexplicable reason, so this means he has to get it changed, and this means he arrives in the studio just as the intro finishes playing, slides on his headphones and announces a rather frenzied hello to the UK. Nick rolls exasperated eyes at him, but starts carrying on a conversation about his weekend which Dan can mindlessly slide into while booting up his laptop.

So he really only realises twenty minutes into the show.

"And this is Newsbeat with Tina Daheley," he informs everyone, fumbling for the right button.

"We had Newsbeat less than five minutes ago," Nick says. Dan ignores this. He gestures at the glass. "Who's that?" 

"Someone who I'm reasonably sure can see and hear you," Nick says, giving the person on the other side a little wave. "That's Phil Lester, our new producer."

"How come I wasn't informed?" Dan demands.

"I texted you about the meeting two days ago-"

"It was at _eight_ am on a _Saturday_ -"

"And so I decided on behalf of everyone to give you a nice surprise," Nick concludes. "Surprise!"

"Where's Fred," Dan says, "why'd he leave!"

"Fred's been saying for ages he was going to retire this year."

"I thought he was just threatening to do it 'cause I kept swearing on-air," Dan says, dismayed. "I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye!"

"His retirement party is this Friday." Nick studies Dan's blank expression. "You really don't read any work related memos at all, do you?"

"Sure I do," Dan starts indignantly, but New Producer Guy Phil Lester gestures at them through the glass, and Nick puts his earphones back on.

"And that was Newsbeat with Tina Daheley for the second time in ten minutes," he says. "Here at BBC Radio One, we place a great deal of importance on the news. Apparently. Speaking of news, let's welcome our new producer! Say hello, Phil Lester."

"Hi, hello," Phil Lester says, and his voice is deeper than Dan had been expecting. If he had been expecting anything. If he had been given the _time_ in which to form any sort of expectation. He realises they're both looking at him expectantly, Nick having offered up an explanation for Fred's sudden abandonment. "Oh," says Dan, like the professional BBC radio DJ he is.

He tries again. "Yeah, it's come as a bit of a surprise for me, too, thanks to Nick here. Walked in today, it was like ta-da, hello new guy fiddling with the control board-"

"It's the first time Dan's met Phil, too," Nick explains. "Slept in on a weekend morning meeting, didn't he?"

"Thanks, Nick."

"Anytime," Nick returns, easy. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll all get along famously. Either that or we'll crash and burn the Breakfast Show, ha ha."

"Very optimistic of you," Dan says, and Phil says, "Yeah, I love that faith in my producing ability."

Nick laughs and introduces 5SOS' new single.

 

"I'm just saying," Nick says, as they pack up their stuff; Phil had given them a thumbs up and disappeared almost immediately after the show, and Dan had kind of been expecting an official introduction but hey, if that was how this guy rolled, "blue eyes, nice smile."

Dan narrows his eyes at him. "What _are_ you saying, Nick? _Do_ elaborate."

He slings his backpack on and Nick pushes open the door for them, his mouth open around a reply, but Dan's spotted Phil waiting right down the corridor, so he elbows Nick in the ribs. Hard.

"Ow!" says Nick. "I'm not stupid, I have eyes! Hi, Phil."

Phil smiles at him - he does have a nice smile, Dan notes, and then curses Nick for this - and sticks out a hand, meant for Dan. "We haven't had a chance to proper meet yet," he says. "Hi, I'm Phil."

"Dan Howell," Dan says automatically. Phil's grip is firm and his fingers are dry and warm, and Dan's inner voice is spouting clichés at this point, let's be real.

"I know," Phil says, still smiling. "I'm a big fan."

"Oh," Dan manages, for the second time in three hours.

"Oh," Nick mimics, low, by his side. Dan is going to elbow him again.

"So - Bill and Audrey," Phil says, "want to get together this weekend, discuss some ideas for the show."

"Ah," Nick says sadly, "Dan and work on weekends, not a great combination."

"Nick, stop making me out to be that bad," Dan says. "I'm not that bad," he assures Phil.

"Good to hear," Phil agrees. "So. I'm gonna-" he thumb jerks at the door, "see you guys Saturday, huh? Or Friday, Fred's retirement shindig. Or. Wait. Tomorrow." He grins sheepishly and darts back through the door.

"I'm just saying," Nick says, "he's your type."

"Shut up, Nicholas," Dan says, "you don't even know if he's _single._ "

 

He's not single.

Dan holds out until Thursday, and then he says something on-air that he doesn't consider particularly funny, but when he looks up, Phil's laughing in the other room, hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled. Dan goes home and holds out for thirty seconds more and then furiously types in his name. 

After a cursory google search, and a viewing of some of his older Youtube videos (all the way back from 2006; he's a youtube dinosaur), he summarily curses Google, Nick Grimshaw, and then himself for harbouring even that tiny fragment of hope. He does not curse Lisa Engleham, who looks like a lovely person, and should have lovely pretty-eyed babies with Phil. He lets out a low, sad whale sound.

Chris, spread out on his stomach on Dan's sofa, eating Dan's tomato Pringles, looks up. 

Dan turns the laptop towards him. Chris views it with his neck bent an awful angle. It makes Dan wince to even look at it. 

"Phil Lester. Your new producer? He's PJ's friend. Nice chap. From up north." Chris pronounces this last bit like a seal of approval.

Dan lets out another long, keening noise.

"What's wrong? Oh, you poor bastard," he says kindly, peering at Dan's face. "You've got a bit of a crush on him, haven't you?'

"Ugh, I don't, I might have had, but anything I might have possibly harboured has been crushed underfoot," Dan says, "thoroughly. Comprehensively. And even if I did, don't you dare tell PJ, either. I know how this chain of thingy thing goes. Seven degrees of separation. It'll get to Phil."

He lies back on his carpet and dramatically lays a hand on his forehead. Part of it is so Chris will sympathise with his predicament and hopefully word will never get to PJ. Dan has high hopes, he knows, but one might as well dream big.

Chris peers down at him. "Stop behaving like a regency maiden," he orders Dan disapprovingly. So much for sympathy. "And I won't tell PJ. Promise."

"Pinky promise," insists Dan. 

"Alright," Chris says, rolling his eyes and reaching out. "Pinky promise."

He might have a shot, then. Even Chris knows pinky promises are sacred.

 

The next night is Fred's shindig, so Dan spends two hours in front of the mirror, deciding between a nice white shirt with a black floral print and a nice black shirt with a white dotted print.

"I didn't know you liked Fred that much," Wirrow says, observing him from the lounge.

"Why are you here?" Dan asks. "I only invited Bry to help me choose."

Wirrow amusedly holds both hands up. "Defensive, Howell," he says, grinning.

"Dan," Bryony says exasperatedly, "I'm going to hold both of these out, and you're going to just close your eyes and pick."

Dan covers his eyes with one hand and blindly reaches out. He gets the black shirt. "Nah," he says, ignoring Bry's "this _boy_ ," and picks the white one from her hand. He buttons it up and starts on his hair.

"This'll take another hour," Bryony says, heading towards the lounge.

"Is he cute at least?" Wirrow asks, flipping through the channels.

"I'm not impressing _him_ ," Dan says, and regrets opening his mouth, because a) he's just sprayed a cloud of aerosol over his head, and b) Wirrow's horribly triumphant expression.

"So it's a he!" he says. "It was 50 - no no, bad bad. 33/33/33. Toss up between he, she, and gender neutral pronouns. Worse odds, and I still got it in one."

"Well, I'm not impressing him," Dan insists. "I like Fred, and there're gonna be big uppity bosses at this thing, and so what if I want to make a good impression on my new producer? Who's got a girlfriend anyway," he adds pointedly, and he isn't too busy with his hair to miss the way Wirrow and Bryony shoot looks at each other. "Alright, I'm _leaving_ ," he says, like a Statement.

They wave absently, already absorbed with Quantico and his popcorn, because all the people in Dan's life seem to have a habit of constantly eating his food. Dan huffs and grabs his jacket, closes the door behind him.

 

The taxi finds its way to Fred's place fine, with Dan giving vague directions; he's been here only once before, for Fred's kid Ant's seventeenth. It's a classic suburban house, large front lawn and vines creeping up the sides, straight out of a Home and Living magazine. Fred's served the BBC faithfully for thirty years, and he's always tolerated Dan with a kind of shaking-his-head fondness; he deserves all the nice things in his retirement.

Ant opens the door and grins at Dan's bottle of wine. "That's for your dad," Dan says, and Ant says, "yeah, yeah," takes it from Dan and grins up at him, lets him in.

The lounge is already full of people, 70% of which Dan knows, 30% older people with broad red friendly faces like Fred's. Who, speaking of, is heading over to Dan and wrapping him up in a hug.

"Man of the hour," Dan says, patting him on the back, "man of the night."

"Sorry, sorry, I know, personal space. I'm just getting maudlin already." He lets go, claps Dan's shoulder.

"Nah, it's good," Dan says, and it is. Fred's hardly a stranger, he was there on Dan's very first day, helped show him around. Dan realises, all abrupt, that he's going to miss him.

"Speaking of maudlin," Dan says, "I know you're probably glad to be rid of me and the many mini heart attacks I almost caused you with my tardiness, procrastination on assignments, et cetera, but it's going to be all odd without you."

Fred looks shocked. "Who are you, and what have you done with Dan Howell?"

"Funny, funny," Dan says. "See if I ever sap on you again."

"I'm gonna miss you too, kid," Fred says, looking fondly upon Dan. "God, it was your first day yesterday. One last sappy, maudlin thing for the night: I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Fred."

"You're in good hands, though, Phil's great. He's over there-" Fred waves vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, "asked after you earlier, if you'd come. Told him Dan Howell's always late, he's just going to have to get used to it."

" _Thanks_ , Fred," Dan says. "Between you and Nick, he's going to think I have the worst work ethics. He was only supposed to find out after, like, a month at least."

Fred pats him again. "Off you go, enjoy the party, don't forget to check in with me before you leave," he instructs. "I'm off to find that bottle of wine I know you brought and my kid's squirreled away." He goes to greet new guests at the door, and Dan looks around and sees El and Fiona, who wave him over.

"You look very nice," Fiona comments approvingly. "New shirt?"

"This old thing," says Dan, "got it at a yard sale, yeah..."

"Oh, Georgio's having another one of those?" Fiona says, tartly, because they know all about him and his fashion weakness.

"Don't you have a drink yet?" El demands. "Let's get you to the kitchen, chop chop." Which is how Dan finds himself being herded into Fred's kitchen, where Phil Lester stands at the counter, in conversation with Nick and Fred's wife, Laura. They're making her smile, and Phil's refilling her glass. But she turns as Dan enters, exclaims, "Love, you made it!" She kisses him on the cheek.

"I suppose you've met Phil," she says.

"For all of a week," Dan agrees. 

"You two're such sweet boys," she says. "I know Fred's confident he's left the place in safe hands."

"Am I not a sweet boy?" Nick enquires, to general amusement. "Alright, alright, don't even start," he says, as Dan opens his mouth.

"You don't even try," she says. "Come along, now, Fred's beckoning and you can cover me from Mr Weston's general viewing, in case he tries to strike up a conversation."

"Milady," Nick says, and they head off, and El and Fiona have melted away with their respective drinks, so Dan finds himself alone with Phil.

"Hello," he says. Phil's wearing a nice dark blue collared short-sleeved shirt, with tiny white dots that appear to be snowflakes when you peer at them closer. He's got slacks and red sneakers on, and his eyes look like a confused pre-storm sky in this low kitchen light.

"Oh, hi, Dan," Phil says, then, "nice that you came."

"Yeah," Dan says, "Fred's a good guy."

It's all polite and mundane, and Dan's just going to get himself a drink, when Phil says calmly: "So Chris said you have a crush on me."

Dam fervently wishes he'd poured himself that drink earlier, just so he could splutter and choke on it. As it is, he settles for spluttering and saying: "What - I -" 

"He also said you'd told him that he couldn't tell PJ," Phil continues, still horrifically calm, "but you never told him he couldn't tell me."

"I am going to kill him," Dan says, equally as calmly, "and then I am not going to speak to him for three years."

"That's very specific," Phil says, smiling.

"I can't keep a grudge for longer than that," Dan admits sadly.

"He's my friend, and he's out to ruin my life."

"Friends tend to do that," Phil agrees.

"I mean, he was joking, because obviously I know you've got a girlfriend-"

"Ah," Phil says.

"Oh god, I'm not the kind of creepy stalker who just knows that. I googled you. No, that came out wrong-"

"It's alright. I often google people after first meetings myself."

Dan doesn't know whether he's joking.

"Did you google me?"

"I didn't need to," Phil says. "Told you I was a big fan."

"No you aren't. Also I'm kind of super embarrassed now."

"You don't need to be." Phil grins at him. "And even if you are, it's nothing a drink can't fix." He inclines his head towards the makeshift bar on the counter.

"D'you know how to make a cocktail?" Dan asks, distracted.

Phil shakes his head. "I can _try_ \- I'll probably smash all the glasses in the process." He picks up a cocktail glass, squints at it, pours some wine and adds a cherry from a bowl. He presents it to Dan with a dramatic flourish. A bit of wine sloshes out.

"A work of art," Dan comments.

"It's nothing," Phil deadpans, all modest, but then there's the distinctive sound of metal tinkling against glass, and when they peer into the lounge, there's a small crowd forming around Mr Weston, who's clearing his throat.

"Oh, man," Phil says with feeling, and Dan has to agree.

"Hey," Dan says, suddenly. "Let's grab a few of those tiny cheesecakes on toothpicks and hide out in the garden."

Phil looks at him, and grins, quick. "C'mon. I'll grab the drinks and cover you."

Outside it's nice and breezy, and they settle into the lawn chairs and clink their glasses to escaping Mr Weston's waffle about his own self-importance. 

"So," Phil says, "what else did you find out when you googled me, besides my relationship status and weird 2008 videos?"

"Your Myspace," Dan says, and Phil groans. "I do my research! Loved the ginger hair, you should go back."

"You know _what_ , Dan Howell," Phil says.

 

Three years gets bargained down to three hours, because Chris pays for pizza and orders the cheesy bread Dan loves. It's not much, but Dan lives alone in central London, buying him out isn't pricey. Also he's more forgiving because he's had nice time tonight; he may have made a friend, something that happens infrequently enough that it's something for Dan to sort of note and then despair that it's something to sort of note. 

 

The next morning he wakes up to the tinkle of his phone; he sighs and reaches out for it with his eyes still closed.

 _you're already late_ , Nick's sent, and then another one, _where are you_

Dan jerks upright and is halfway through brushing his teeth when he realises the sun isn't slanting through the bathroom window the way it would be if he was already late. He checks his phone again: five-thirty am.

_fuck you i fuckin had a heart attack_

_ghjiddjijd i was counting on you panicking and not looking at the time_

Thanks to Nick wake up texts, at any rate, Dan's early to the meeting room; he gets his latte on the way, and is sipping it and reveling in the warmth, at the head of the table with his feet up because he's alone and he can, when the door swings open and Phil enters, bearing one of those Starbucks cartons with six drinks in the slots.

"Oh," he says, smiling at Dan. "I wasn't expecting you to beat me here, I like being early." He sets the drinks down, and Dan despairs; he's a Nice Person. "Guess I'll have your latte then."

Dan clutches at it. "I need all the caffeine I can get, thanks."

"How bout we share, so we can each be a hundred and fifty percent caffeinated," Phil bargains, walking around to the other end of the table and settling down. He steeples his hands together and affects a serious expression. 

"Is that your megalomaniac CEO of a powerful corrupt company pose?" Dan asks.

"That is indeed my megalomaniac CEO of _the world_ pose," Phil agrees, aiming a narrow-eyed glare at Dan. "If you would be so kind as to get your filthy feet off my gold-plated table..."

Which is how Nick and Fiona find them, giggling over whether Dan can get Iceland in exchange for Japan - Phil needs it so he can breed his pandas, Dan, you don't understand the importance of this - when they walk in half an hour later. Nick takes in the projection screen, with the huge map of the world where Phil's added a drawing of two pandas mating where Japan's situated.

"Ah," Nick says, "I see we're going with the getting along famously option." He takes off his sunglasses and takes a coffee. "Who bet against me?"

"You didn't make a bet," Fiona informs him.

"Sad," Nick sighs theatrically. "I'll just have to make a different one."

Dan doesn't like the look he shoots Fiona at this, like, at all, but Bill Kreppe comes in and so does Audrey Myers and the meeting is declared officially underway.

Apparently they want Phil to take a more active role as a producer, because of his natural talent at presenting and Youtube background, which everyone agrees with, yeah, it'll be cool if Phil makes comments here and there and Dan and Nick include him in their discussions, sure. Then they want Phil to lay out some of his ideas and he obliges; he hurriedly gets rid of the panda slide, Dan grinning, and offers something called Internet News, which personally Dan thinks sounds fantastic.

"We can do it with like, black horn-rimmed glasses, very official presenter," he suggests, and Audrey points at him, "yeah, make it a proper visual thing, put it up on the site." Bill agrees, and Phil proposes Fan Wars.

"Very internetty!" Fiona says. "Get the younger listeners involved. I like it. Winner can request a song of their choice."

"Good, good, it all sounds great," Bill pronounces, and then they talk official business things that Dan has never been quite interested in before everyone starts clearing out and wishing each other a good weekend.

"You know what you should pitch," Dan says to Phil, holding the door open as Phil balances his laptop and downing the last dregs of his coffee; frankly, with that kind of balancing, Dan's worried that the coffee's going to land all over him, but Phil narrowly misses him when it inevitably spills, gets a bit of the carpet and most of the bin.

"Oh, dear," Phil says sadly.

"You didn't get me, I'm counting it a win," Dan decides.

Phil stuffs the laptop in his bag and makes a conceding sound. "What were you saying?"

"You should pitch the Seven Second Challenge," Dan says. "You know, the one you did with PJ, which a bunch of other Youtubers stole?"

"Have the listeners do the challenges?" Phil asks. "Or the presenters?"

"Okay, I hadn't thought it up that far, this literally just occurred to me," Dan says. "But it'd be fun to do a DJ vs DJ thing, you know?"

"Yeah, it would, actually, make it a little competitive." Phil does a sort of boxing motion in the revolving doors. 

"Only one can survive," Dan says.

"We'll bring it up next time. Tube?"

"Nah, I'm taking a taxi, traffic isn't shit and I'm going to make the most of the rest of the weekend," Dan says. "And by this I mean: sleep."

"Good plan," Phil agrees. He waves at Dan, is swallowed up by the street. 

Dan tries not to notice how _we'll_ sounds better in Phil's mouth when it refers to him and Phil by aggressively sticking out his hand for a taxi.

 

On Sunday Phil texts him a picture of some horrific mutated creature. _household dust_ , he's captioned it.

And then a few seconds later: It's Phil btw, like they hadn't saved each other's numbers on Saturday.

_Gross, Dan replies. the household dust, not you. Wtf is that anemone_

_thanks glad you cleared it up. also idk but it's probably on your eyelid rn ___

__Dan sends him a gross emoji.*_ _

On Monday him and Nick film the first Internet News segment; Phil's compiled stories about baby seals barking to Born This Way, New Year's cards gone wrong, and a baby who can sing opera. It's all very quirky and endearing. Dan makes a mental note to contribute weirder stories to Phil next week; c'mon, man, it's the internet. 

On Tuesday they introduce Fan Wars, and a One Direction fan faces off with a Little Mix one, which is exciting enough as it is, except the Little Mix one refuses to stop singing, which has the studio in hysterics, because she just keeps hitting those high notes over 1D's No Control, and in the end Nick, still giggling, has to say, "alright, alright, darling, we're cutting you off." Phil's got his hand over his mouth, which Dan is beginning to realise only happens when he laughs really hard. 

On Wednesday Nick tells him he's the new X Factor judge, and to keep it quiet; Dan goes wide-eyed, congratulates him, says, "you're not leaving us like this, are you?" Nick rolls his eyes. "Not quite yet, Howell, there's no need to look so _betrayed_." 

On Thursday he happens to mention that he loves Mario Kart, when Phil and him go out for a breakfast brunch thing after the show, and Phil informs him, "I love Mario Kart!" Dan says: "alright, alright, it's not a competition over who loves it more," and Phil's eyes brighten, and he decides, "well, it wouldn't have to be, we could decide it once and for all. Come over Saturday and play it," and Dan's not going to say no to a Mario Kart gauntlet thrown down like that. 

On Friday Internet News is broadcast, and it gets their site a bunch of views, which is nice. 

On Saturday he stands on the doorstep of Phil's apartment, suddenly abruptly nervous; he's only known this guy for two weeks, and he hasn't exactly had a history of making friends that easily. He can't get rid of the feeling that he's gonna fuck it up somehow. So he stands there, alternating between nerves and telling himself to shut up, until Phil opens the door and he takes a surprised step back, forgetting he's on a doorstep and almost falling backwards. 

Phil steadies him with a hand on his arm. "It's nice to not be the one tripping for once," he tells Dan. 

"Ha ha. Hm. Ha," Dan replies intelligently, inviting himself in out of embarrassment. 

Phil's apartment is a bit bigger than Dan's, and everything is bright and primary coloured, on Phil's mini apartment tour he sees a main bedroom, a spare, a basket of expensive-looking soap in a basket in the bathroom, a spotless kitchen. 

"I live with my girlfriend," Phil says, "Lisa, she's gone off to Manchester the next few months for work." 

"Oh, right," Dan says, "I'm just going to attribute the overall cleanliness and tidiness of your place compared to mine to that fact that you've got someone to moderate it and I don't." 

"Whatever makes you feel better," Phil says, grinning. "Settle yourself onto the sofa, I'm going to get the snacks." 

Phil's chosen Pop Tarts and Pringles and Fanta, good choices, Dan approves of these choices. It's all going swimmingly, bit of banter back and forth, until they start the game, and then it's full-out war. 

Phil's good at it, Dan wonders if it's by practice or natural talent, but Dan's battle-hardened by years of not many irl friends and therefore racing against internet masters, and he wins the first game, then the second, at which Phil gives a little shriek and declares it's out of five and wins the third. Dan edges past him in the fourth race and Phil blames the wheels of his car for being too _fast_ , the spork, and informs Dan that it's best of ten. They play until evening, until the sun begins to set, and then Phil throws down the controller and says: "Ceasefire, ceasefire!" 

"Or we could just call it what it is: a complete whitewash," Dan suggests. 

If you'd been keeping score, Howell, you'd understand that it was fairly even, and I could sense that my luck was about to change," Phil says loftily. "Aren't you hungry?" 

They'd both lost track of the score about thirty minutes in, and Dan is extremely hungry - lots of shouting and fervent finger action will do that to you - so they go out for sushi near Phil's place, which Phil recommends as good, not great, but for the location alone I'll give it four out of five, and they trash talk each other's Mario Kart skills for a bit, but then they talk about other video games for a bit, and then they start on anime, and then the sushi itself, and it's by then Dan discovers Phil's a gigantic weeaboo, too. Final Fantasy and Kill Bill (Volume 1, duh) and Free!, and _fuck_ Dan's secretly delighted, but it's not going to stop him getting into it with him over the merits of Makoharu as opposed to Rinharu. These are the important things. 

__

And then it all just - snowballs, as brand-new friendships tend to; Dan spends the next couple of months either texting Phil, or going for coffee or sushi or pizza with him, or watching the new Captain America movie with him and his ridiculously bright Avengers socks, or catching his eye when a caller says something especially strange on-air. Phil has an offbeat sense of humour that's dry in a way that's actually hilarious, and he has a knack for attracting strange people on the street that Dan didn't 100% believe him about until it happens to them again and again, which, what, and he's really clumsy and he sings Celine Dion in the shower and hates cheese and has just only realised, after having stomachaches for a year, that he's lactose intolerant, and before Dan knows it he's insinuated himself into Dan's life like he's been there forever and a day. 

It's nice. It's like having a best friend. Not that Dan would know, as he hasn't properly had one, like, ever, but before he can reflect upon that too much, Phil texts him asking for the time (it's literally on his phone, the living flop) or the fact that Sarah Michelle Gellar's just follow friday'd him (he's a Buffy stan. It's a big deal for him) and he forgets to reflect, since it's easier instead to laugh and go along with whatever Phil's saying. 

" _Dan_ ," Chris says. He waves a hand between Dan's face and his phone. "Jesus." 

"Hm?" Dan has the vague idea that Chris has been trying to get his attention for some time. "Sorry, sorry, texting." 

"I can see that," Chris says snippily. "I was asking if you wanted Thai." 

"I had Thai yesterday," Dan says. "We went and tried this new place that just opened up across the street. I wish I lived on his street just 'cause of all the food there. It's a literal hub." 

"So no Thai," Chris surmises. "Or, y'know what, you can eat it again, I've been craving Pad Thai for ages. 

They watch an episode of Brooklyn 99, then the food comes and they set it up on the table. Dan pulls out his phone to check it - Phil's replied - and he types out a quick answer before setting it down. When he looks over again, Chris is surveying him, but there's no annoyance this time, just a kind of consideration. 

"I haven't seen you these last few weeks," he says. 

"Oh," Dan says, stuffing an egg roll into his mouth. "Hanging out with Phil, mostly." 

"Yeah," Chris agrees, then, since he's always been the kind of person to cut to the chase, "what's his girlfriend think about you spending so much time with him?" 

Dan doesn't think about Lisa much. Phil mentions her a few times, here and there: "I went on that ride with Lisa," "it's one of her favourite movies," but he doesn't think about it, really. There's nothing much to think about, anyway; she's still in Manchester, and the rare weekends she does come home Phil doesn't hang out with him, that's all there is to it. "She's in Manchester, mostly, for work," he tells Chris now. "I don't know if he's told her about me." The thought cuts him in a strange stinging way, that Phil might not have considered Dan important enough in his life to tell his girlfriend about. "Also, it's not like that. I know he has someone. I wouldn't be that person." 

Chris doesn't look like he's considering him anymore, he just looks a tiny bit sympathetic, which Dan - this calls for the world ending, except Dan kind of doesn't want to comment on it and find out what it is he's got to say. "I know you wouldn't, Dan," he says. "That's not what I'm worried about." 

__

And like - it's easy, the way it hasn't ever been with anyone else. Phil waits for him in the corridor after the show, and they have lunch, finally trying out different places in the area because it's more fun with a friend. They try out bowling one weekend. Phil's good at it until he ventures too far into the bowling lane, slips on the smooth coating, and falls on his ass. He still wins, but that's because Dan's laughing too hard to continue. They start on Making A Murderer. Dan finds out he has two loving parents and an older brother. Dan tells him about his own brother, his grandma, his mum. 

Speaking of. 

"Hi, Mum," Dan says. 

"Oh, you remember what you call me, then," his mum says, "thought you'd forgotten that along with my number." 

"Sorry, Mum. I've just been busy." 

"Busy, yeah, yeah, I know," she says, heaving a huge sigh. Dan inherits his sense of the dramatic from her. 

"With work, and-" 

"And?" She repeats. "Is there an and? Tell me there's an and. Is it that nice girl who works with you? The brunette one?" 

"It could be a guy," Dan says, feeling defensive. He doesnt know why it matters, so much, right now except that it does. "You said a guy would be fine too, remember?" 

"I remember what I said," his mum says, like Dan's being silly. "It's a guy, then? That's so cute. Dan! What's his name, do I know him? Can I meet him?" 

She's speed-rambling in excitement, the way Dan does. Dan doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know whether she's trying to make up for her lukewarm response when he'd told her about his sexuality, or if it's because he found someone, or if it even matters why, because she sounds so honestly delighted, but he makes a confused kind of grunt sound, which she takes as agreement because she gives a tiny yelp of excitement, and changes the subject. 

He wants to tell Phil about it; he's going to be extremely amused and bemoan Dan's inability to talk himself out of emotionally complicated situations, Dan can already hear the sound of his laugh. Phil picks up after the second ring, listens to Dan, and says, "Oh, man." 

"I know, right," Dan says. 

"So she thinks you have someone?" Phil asks. "What are you gonna do if she comes up unexpectedly and you don't?" 

"Tell her we broke it off?" Dan suggests. "Or, like, hire someone... she sounded so excited." 

"How do you get yourself into these situations," Phil says, sounding amused. 

"It'll end up a disastrous spiral of lies." 

"As per usual, then. So. Hey," Phil says, "Lisa's in town. You remember Lisa." 

"I remember Lisa." 

"Anyway, she wants to invite you to dinner tomorrow night! Well. Everyone. Nick, and Fiona. She wants to meet everyone I'm working with now." The way Phil says it makes Dan think Lisa's somewhere in the vicinity; it's not restrained, exactly, but Dan knows Phil enough to know it's different; he realises it's been sort of different since he'd picked up the phone, but Dan had been too absorbed in his story to notice. 

"Oh," Dan says, his usual witty self. 

"You coming?" 

Dan can't think of an excuse not to. Or a reasonable reason he should think of an excuse not to. He likes Phil, and he will probably like his girlfriend too. It's all good. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there." 

"Great!" Phil says. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow." 

Tomorrow, then, finds him and Nick on Phil's doorstep, Nick with a bottle of wine, Dan carrying a box of chocolates. Nick reaches out to ring the doorbell. He looks at Dan. 

"Y'okay?" he asks. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dan asks back. Nick's about to say something, but the door opens. 

Lisa is dark-haired and brown-eyed and small; she's wearing jeans and a white top and she smiles at Nick and Dan, exclaims, "Oh, you shouldn't have!" 

"You must be Lisa," Nick says, going over all charming, Dan hands over the gift and lets Nick talk them through the hallway and then to the lounge, where Fiona's already sitting. "Phil's in the back," Lisa says, swinging the door open; Dan follows her, for no particular reason, to where Phil's setting out the cutlery in the dining room. She goes over to his side, kisses him on the cheek, easy, affectionate, and he smiles. There is a sudden twist in Dan's gut, like a dulled blade. "Dan brought us chcolates," she tells him. "He's as nice as you said he was. I've heard so much about you," this to Dan, and so he doesn't gasp from the twist in his gut, and says instead, "Hopefully that I've been beating him soundly in Mario Kart," which makes her laugh. 

Dinner is - uneventful. It's good food and familiar conversation, Nick retelling well-known anecdotes, the rest jumping in with a bit of banter, Lisa laughing, and after they've eaten Dan volunteers to help clean up, waving away Lisa and Phil's protests. 

"So. What d'you think of her?" 

Dan hadn't noticed him coming in with a new stack of bowls. He doesn't jump, but he says, " _Phil_ ," puts a soapy hand to his heart. 

"Sorry, sorry," Phil says, his mouth curving up in amusement. He comes over, places the stack in the sink. 

Nick was wrong, Dan realises. Phil's eyes aren't blue; they're pre-storm pale, they're a shade of green lighter than the green tea he makes, they're almost amber in the right light. Nick was right, Dan realises, and so was Chris, and so was his mum, about the _and_. 

"Lisa's lovely," Dan says. 

Phil grins at him then, seems relieved. "I'd hoped you'd like each other. You're, like, my most favourite people ever." 

The assurance is tempered with second-prize consolation. Dan swallows through the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah, no, she seems great," he tells Phil, quite honestly, and turns to the dishes again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dan spends most of Saturday morning and afternoon in bed, cuddled up in his duvet on the sofa; it's drizzly and grey-skied, perfect emo weather, and he goes through three Harry Potter movies before his doorbell rings. He staggers to the door, still in the duvet.

The peephole reveals it to be Wirrow and Bryony, so Dan unlocks it and staggers back to the sofa. "You're just in time for Goblet of Fire," he informs them. "I finished up all my popcorn, you're going to have to deal."

They just stand there, not making themselves rather too much at home, which is so very unlike them that Dan looks up. "What?"

"Chris told us," Bryony said. "About the - about the thing."

Friday night, after Dan had gotten back, drunk a glass more wine than he'd planned to earlier that evening, and slumped gratefully into bed, he'd texted Chris: _u were right_

_about what... it's a long list_

_the phil thing. except i still wont be that person_

_): ):_ came the reply, but Dan had fallen asleep. 

"Is there no detail of my life he won't share with other people?" Dan wants to know. 

"Probably not, for the right price," Wirrow says. He walks around the table and sits down next to Dan. "You alright, then?" 

"God, no-one died," Dan says. He pulls the duvet closer around him. Last Tuesday, Phil had come over for Scrabble, and it had been thundering outside. _Blanket fort?_ Phil had asked, and before Dan could protest that they were both midway to 30 years old, he'd found himself helping Phil drag a couple of kitchen chairs and draping this very duvet over it. Dan remembers dipping his hand in the bag and watching Phil study his tiles while the lightning flashed outside, feeling extraordinarily warm and safe and reassured. He probably should have known, then. "I just had a crush, which apparently everyone figured out before me, and now I'm getting over it. This is my getting over it period. I'll be fine by the end of Part Two." 

Bryony drops onto the cushions on his other side. She drops her head to his shoulder. "Any chance you wanna re-watch POA?" she asks. "Being the best one and all." 

"Sorry, nah," Dan says, and pushes his cheek into her hair. "That's what you get for arriving late to the movies." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Wirrow asks. 

"No," Dan says. "No, I just wanna watch Harry, please." 

The one person he'd want to talk to about it, who'd probably say something that'd make him feel better about it, is, unfortunately, the one person it's about. And so they watch Barty pretend to be Mad-Eye until Wirrow and Bryony have to go, promising to be back soon, to take him out to the spa or a water park next week, which is nice of them but unnecessary, he assures them. 

Chris texts _mayb u need to get laid?¿ my rly hot friends recently single_

Dan isn't the get laid casually kind of guy; he's the long term committed relationship leading to really intimate sex kind of guy. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, he's just - for him, it's nice to get to know the person first, to know that person cares about you. 

Sunday morning he listens to a mix he's made on Spotify of Kanye's saddest + most romantic songs, starting with Welcome To Heartbreak. Obviously. He thinks for a bit and hoists his duvet off the bed, because he still has the rest of the day to mourn something that was never going to happen and probably never will, given the level of Serious Relationship Phil and Lisa are involved in, all moved in together and familiar loving gestures that'd stung to watch from across the table. And by tomorrow he'll be fine, he'll back off Phil to give his heart time to settle, they'll settle into co-workers and Friends Less Close Than He'd Envisioned But That's Fine. So he's all settled in, Order of the Phoenix over with and Half Blood Prince on its end scene, when the doorbell rings. 

It's probably Chris or Wirrow or Bry, so Dan goes and unlocks it, and when he's got it open Phil Lester's at his door, a plastic bag all steamed up clutched in his hand. 

"Hi," Phil says. He's got a faded red hoodie on. He shifts from one foot to the other, barely. "You weren't answering your phone. Chris said you weren't feeling well?" 

"Oh, yeah," Dan says. "It's - you know. Bit under the weather." 

Oh," Phil repeats. "You won't be coming in tomorrow?" 

"No, no, I'll be fine by then," Dan assures him. "It's - one of those things. Weekend bugs." He stands aside to let Phil in, a bit flustered and aware he is well on his way to a ridiculous explanation of a non-existent weekend bug illness. "I'll be right as rain tomorrow." 

Phil squints at him. "Are you sure? Because it's fine if you aren't up to it, I'm sure Nick and I can-" 

Dan is quite sure that he doesn't want to look back on this day and remember begging off from work because of a fucking crush. "Yes! Look." He sweeps a hand towards the TV. "Bit of this, rest, one of those things, I'll be fine in the morning." 

Phil has a warring expression on his face like he doesn't know Dan well enough to argue or know for sure when he's lying, and by all accounts Dan is looking perfectly fine, so he holds up the plastic bag instead. "Hot soup." 

"That's - really nice," Dan says. "Thanks." 

Phil shrugs, peers at the TV. "How did I kind of know Harry would be your go-to comfort movie?" 

"Ugh. Am I truly that predictable?" 

"It's a well-beloved franchise, popular amongst 90s kids who like to pretend they're cooler than they are," Phil observes. "Lucky guess." 

"Say what you want, eight movies and I'll be cured of anything." 

Phil sets the soup on the table. "If I put this into a bowl and hand you a spoon, am I allowed to invite myself to the rest of the marathon?" 

Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe if you spend your Getting Over Your Crush Period with, you know, said crush, it backfires on you and you never actually get over them. Maybe. 

Dan's never said no to spending time with Phil. Dan realises, abruptly, that he doesn't want to start - whatever's going on with his stupid heart, he won't let it lose him Phil, in any capacity he can have him. 

"Aren't you afraid of the germs?" Dan asks, settling back into the sofa. He pulls the duvet back over his head. This small comfort instead, then, for his foolish heart. 

"I'll take a Dettol bath," Phil promises, and makes good on his other one, to get Dan his soup in a bowl. He makes himself Ribena, because he knows where everything is in Dan's kitchen, and sits on the other end of the sofa as Deathly Hallows begins. Dan accepts the bowl, feeling oddly comforted. He can do this. He can do friends, if it means not losing one of the best ones he's ever made. 

Being friends means, then, that he assures Phil, next Tuesday, that it's going to be _fine_ and he should quit _worrying._ The worst they can do, really, is reject the idea, and that's if they're complete and utter idiots. 

"It's just that Internet News and Fan Wars were based off old BBC stuff, you know, and it's worked before," Phil says, squeezing the styrofoam of his finished latte. "This is new and this is all mine and it's based on a stupid vid-" 

"It's a really good video, and it'd be a really fun thing to do on-air," Dan says, "and do you want me to come in with you?" 

"No, it's fine, stay out here for moral support," Phil says. "It'll look weird if I bring my buddy in to convince them it's not shit." 

"One of their radio DJs, who's excited to do this on the show," Dan corrects, but doesn't press it. The assistant secretary person nods at Phil that it's time to go in. He gently pries the cup from Phil's grip. 

"The worst they can do," Phil tells him, standing up, "is laugh me out of the room." 

Dan huffs at him and makes a shooing motion with his hands. 

It turns out they like the Seven Second Challenge, make Nick and Dan play it the very next day (Dan failing to find the switch for the studio mood lights, Nick playing the One Direction classic, One Thing); Dan and Phil take a turn on Friday, Dan losing when he can't spell his own name backwards. He'll curse and inform Phil that this game is set up to make him lose, but right now Phil is coming out of the room, grinning, telling Dan it went well. 

"Didn't laugh you out of the room, then," Dan says, fondly. 

"Guess not!" Phil agrees. "Thanks, Dan," he says later, when they're getting falafels in the mid-afternoon sun, "you're actually the best, did you know that?" He knocks elbows with Dan, unwraps his own. 

"I'm alright," Dan shrugs around a mouth full of deliciousness, the warmth in him probably not because of the sunlight, or the spiciness of whatever sauce they threw into his snack. 

So Dan's life's going pretty well. He fields another call from his mum in which he deftly avoids her boyfriend questions, he hangs out with Phil mostly but Wirrow and Bryony and Chris and Nick and Fiona as well, he's turning the radio show more 'youth-oriented' with the BBC, more visual-based internet stuff, it's interesting. He's happy, on the whole, and pretty much on good terms with the universe, and if he sometimes stares at his best friend a beat too longer than is needed, or smiles inanely at a text when he's alone at home and there's no one to see, then it's not on purpose and not his fault, anyway. 

Nick says, "Hey, so my first live show's next week," somewhere in the middle of May. 

"Fuck, congrats, that's awesome," Dan effuses. "I'll be glued to the TV. There'll be _There's Nobody I'd Like To gRIM More_ signs all over the apartment." 

Nick grimaces, but continues, "You're invited. Though, on second thought... Oh, well, I've already given them your names. You're all invited." 

Dan squeals. Nick sighs. 

"No signs." 

"Oh, man!" says Dan, grinning. "Just a tiny one? _There's A Reason They Call Him RIMshaw_?" 

"I find it quite worrying that one of Radio One's DJs for its flagship programme can't do anything with my name other than anal sex jokes," Nick informs him. 

Phil's waiting downstairs for him next Tuesday night. Dan waves and locks his front door and makes to flag a taxi down for them, but Phil moves in front of him. "Nick's making me search you for signs." 

"Really?" Dan says. "Really?" 

Phil grins. "Hold still, Howell," he orders, and proceeds to pat him down, all over. Dan stands still and hopes that the gathering dusk hides the spreading blush he can feel on his cheeks. He's tried very hard not to think about Phil's hands all over him. This is cruelty served in the most innocent way possible. He doesn't know if Nick meant it to be quite so torturous, but he vows to bring a multitude of rimming joke signs to the next show he's invited to. 

"A-ha!" Phil announces, withdrawing from Dan's back pocket a piece of thick paper that reads, _This Saint Nicholas Can Come Down MY Chimney Tonight_. Dan had been running out of ideas. "Dan, Dan, Dan." 

"Alright, alright," Dan says. Phil's still kneeling, this is way too close, and he's going to - well, thank god for rapidly approaching nightfall. "You caught me. No signs. I only meant to show it to him later anyway and tell him I showed the camera." 

"That _would_ be amusing," Phil allows, handing it back and finally, finally getting up. "Okay. Let's go support Nick!" 

Supporting Nick is fun; Dan and Phil cheer and yell with the best of them from their seats in the third row with Fi. Nick's good at this; he's acerbic but he's kind to the contestants, he's always been entertaining and if he's nervous, he doesn't let it show. Then there's a dimly lit, higher-class club after party for everyone to get marvelously sloshed; Nick lets himself be clapped on the back and tells them to enjoy themselves. Dan thinks Fiona's already deep in conversation with one of the cuter contestants. That leaves Phil, who's telling him he's hungry. 

"They never seem to serve actual food at these things," Dan observes. "Just the tiny stuff on toothpicks." 

They end up filling a shotglass with hors-devours on toothpicks and going outside. 

"This is getting to be a habit," Phil says, when they're outside eating, leaning against the fire escape and listening to the muffled beats of Drake coming from within. 

"This can be our thing," Dan says. "Antisocial losers who disappear off with all the food." 

Phil smiles at him. In the moonlight his eyes look bluer than anything, or maybe they change according to what he's wearing, a navy shirt which fits him too well. Dan closes his eyes and knocks the back of his head against metal; inside, Drake croons _I wish we had met when I was in my teens-_

"Wouldn't be able to hear myself inside there anyway," Phil says. "Also I'd really rather talk to you than most of them." 

If this was another universe, Dan would be able to turn, then, and place a hand on the railing beside Phil's head. To watch the storm-blue of his eyes darken as he leans in. In this one, he simply remarks, "Guess we're not suited for that hashtag club life," watches the cars go by, listens to Phil make up a story about the person with the Doberman in their backpack. 

"So speaking of birthdays, our here Dan's is coming up," Nick says. "Any bad gift ideas for me? Anybody want to talk about the worst birthdays they've ever had? Text it in or hashtag it, we're going to be talking about it all morning..." 

Kaylee tweets about the remote controlled flying shark her boyfriend got for her. Marie texts in about the failure of her mum's boyfriend's birthday dinner, when his ex had shown up. Ray talks about his eighteenth, when his new uni friends held a surprise birthday party for him at a seafood restaurant. He's allergic. 

"Did you eat anything?" Dan asks, laughing. 

"Watercress soup," Ray admits. 

"I feel like if anyone ever threw me a surprise party, that would actually be how it would go," Dan says. 

"Your birthday _is_ coming up," Phil says, when Dan catches up to him in the corridor later, and they're setting off for a late breakfast. 

"Good observation," Dan says. "I'm glad they hired an attentive producer." 

"Funny guy," Phil snorts. "Have you ever been thrown a surprise party?" 

"No," Dan says. 

"Interesting." 

Dan peers at him. "If you're planning to throw me one, I feel like this right here is kind of ruining the surprise part." 

"I'm not planning to throw you one!" Phil exclaims unconvincingly. He pushes open the revolving door with great fervour, nearly banging Dan in the face. "So what d'you wanna eat? You hungry? What a bright lovely day it is. I could do with some Indian." 

The surprise is also a tiny bit ruined by the fact that Chris texts him two pictures the following week, one of a suit and tie, one of a hoodie and jeans. _what should i wear for ur surprise party?_ he captions it. 

_seeing as it's a SURPRISE party.........._

_so.... informal?_

Phil valiantly keeps it pretty much a secret in the weeks leading up to Dan's birthday, anyway, except for that one time he leaves his laptop open in Dan's lounge and Dan catches sight of a DM conversation with Bryony about balloon colours and whether any shops honestly had them in black, upon which he fights the urge to type _amazon is your best friend._

So it does come pretty much as a surprise when, on the evening of the ninth, he returns home from a grocery run (Phil had texted him that he'd be coming over later for that Julia Roberts marathon they'd long-planned, and to get the Good Snacks), and opens his door to a well-rehearsed shout of "Sur _prise_!" 

"Okay, yeah," he says, later, after his friends crowd around him and poke fun of the way he'd 'staggered back' - dramatic much, thanks, all he'd done was take one small surprised step - after they hug him and hand him his presents, all of them - Bry and Wirrow and PJ and Nick and Fiona and Eleanor and Chris and his compromise of hoodie and nice pants, various work pal-buddy-acquaintances, his hairdresser, for some strange reason - "yeah, you got me." 

Phil'd been in the kitchen, handing out drinks; he hadn't rushed forward but Dan had come to find him anyway. He'd asked, "are you surprised? Are you?" 

Now he says, "Two days before the actual birthday," and beams at Dan. "I got you!" 

"Where'd you find the black balloons?" Dan enquires. 

"Amazon," Phil says. "Do you like them? Very aesthetically you. Though I hope you're a bit happier than that right now." 

"I'm a bit happier than that," Dan concurs. Phil beams at that. He looks happy, too. 

"I don't know what you wanna do on your actual birthday. That's up to you." 

"I think Mario Kart and pizza is fine. You free?" 

"It's your birthday, of course I am," Phil says. "Hey, look what's part of your birthday present. I made you a cocktail." He manages a sequence of complicated quick movements involving vanilla and a shot of liquor. "It's The Dan!" 

"Firstly, the fact that you managed to do that without smashing anything..." 

"I know, right." 

Two days later, they're Mario Karting. Phil seems a bit distracted; he'd said "Happy Birthday!" cheerfully enough, handed Dan a wrapped square parcel and his favourite sushi rolls, but he's losing every game they've played so far, skidding off a straight race track, and as much as Dan likes to win and tease him about it, this is honestly no fun. 

"Alright?" Dan says, nudging him with his knee. Phil's on the floor, leaning against the sofa. 

"Yeah," Phil says, "yeah." He's very obviously lying. He isn't even looking at Dan. 

Dan feels a spiral of worry emerge from the depths of his stomach. He skids off as well, and they both study the carts crash into each other against the barriers, watch them spin until Phil pauses the game. "So," he says, voice enthusiastic in a trying too hard way, "big news!" 

Dan waits. 

"Lisa's job's moving her to Manchester, and she's excited about it," Phil says, "and she wants me to move back there with her." 

Dan blinks. "But you live here," he says blankly. 

"Hence the moving," Phil says. He attempts a smile. 

"Are you _going?"_

"I might. I might not. She's so excited. And I know I'll always have a job in Manchester, back at the old station, and we've said we'd never try long-distance." Phil's tapping the controller, probably unconsciously, against his thigh. He's not usually fidgety, that's Dan. "What do you think?" 

Dan thinks he doesn't feel like losing Phil at all, not when he's settled into a sort of unrequited-pining comfortable-friendship type thing. "I don't think you should go." He might as well be frank about it. 

Phil sort of shrugs. "I don't know." 

"Your friends are here. You like your job." Dan realises he's edging towards whininess. "I don't want you to go." 

At this, Phil stops tapping; he hoists himself up onto the sofa, arm just brushing Dan's. "I would feel a lot better about it if you could come with me," he says. 

Dan wonders, if Phil asked, if he would pack up his things and go. Probably not. Maybe, though. Not if Lisa came along, but if Phil ever asked him to start a new life in a strange city, Dan would probably follow. 

"So today we're talking about what makes London great!" Dan says cheerily. 

"I thought we were talking about worst pet names," Nick says, "but okay! Go London, please call in or text with your stories about this lovely city. A bit of nostalgia on this cold and drizzly day. Might keep us warm." 

"Or you could hashtag #ILoveLondonBecause," Dan adds. 

Phil, on the other side of the glass, makes a face at him, _I know what you're doing._ Dan steamrolls on. "Phil! Phil, tell us why you love London." 

Nick squints at him. Phil makes the universal gesture, palms out, for god, this person. 

"Well, I like the Eye," Phil says. "I like the food here, anything, anytime. I like the people." There's a pause. "Yeah, the other day, a man in a purple raincoat came up to me and..." 

Dan doesn't hear from Phil that weekend; the last thing Phil had said was that he and Lisa were going to 'talk things through,' and then radio silence. Dan changes his sheets, Skypes his brother, goes through next week's Internet News notes. Dan really doesn't want to lose Phil now Dan knows what it's like to have him in his life. _Soulmate_ is a bit dramatic, Dan concurs to himself, but it's simple the way no other relationship has been, the way Phil'd inserted himself into Dan's life. 

He fields a series of off tangent questions from Wirrow about Darth Vader and lung problems and space dust, and texts Phil at eight thirty _hope everythigns going ok._ He doesn't really expect a reply and Phil doesn't, so he watches a rerun of Downton and is in pyjamas by ten thirty. He's brushing his teeth like a responsible adult, iamamiwhoami with the volume up because despite it all, he is feeling a bit lonely, when the doorbell rings. 

Phil looks tired, eyes red-ringed. He's in his windbreaker, and he says, _I'm staying,_ and _we broke up,_ and _can I stay here tonight,_ and Dan holds the door open as he says _sure_ and _whatever you need_ and fights not to show the encompassing rush of relief he feels at getting to keep Phil. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

A Phil getting over his breakup, Dan discovers, is a Phil who doesn't talk about his breakup at all. He spends a lot of time with Dan, time which, Dan surmises, Lisa is spending packing up her stuff. He goes over to his own apartment and comes back only hours later, a but quieter. He sleeps over on the sofa bed many nights; Dan grows used to coming into the bathroom in the morning and finding Phil's contact lens case balanced precariously on the tap, or Phil himself, sleepy-eyed with his toothbrush tucked into his mouth. Dan's heart never fails to give an odd little clench at this taunting vision of what life could be like, but that's really besides the point.

The day Lisa moves out Phil says: "Can you come with me?"

"Hmm? Sure," Dan says, absorbed in a reddit thread about Cersei Lannister. Looking up, he asks: "Um, where?"

"She's moving today," Phil says. "I don't really want to say goodbye alone. I know it's cowardly. It'll just be uncomfortable and sad and-" He sighs. "Could you come along?"

That's how Dan finds himself saying an awkward hello to Lisa, who tries for a smile as she shoulders two bags into the hall. Her hair's pulled back today, and her eyes are as red as Phil's, who's taping up her last few boxes. Dan stands around and feels like he's getting in the moving guys' way and wonders if he shouldn't just wait outside, so he finds his way to the bathroom first. Except he can't close the door, because Lisa's blocking it.

"Um, sorry," Dan says, "do you need to-"

"No, I just," Lisa says, swiping a hand over her face. Some of her curls have escaped her headband; she looks lovely and exhausted. "How is he?"

"Coping," Dan says. "Y'know. It's hard."

Lisa nods. "Take care of him," she says suddenly, almost fierce. "I'm glad you're here, Dan."

By the time he comes out, they're in the lounge, hugging, both sniffing a bit. Dan makes to back away again but Lisa catches sight of him, murmurs something to Phil. He smiles. They step back. Phil rubs at his nose.

"Be good, Lise," he says. "Stay away from drugs. Don't drink and drive."

She gives a half-choked laugh. "I'll text when I get there, yeah?" A wave and then she's gone, just like that. The door swings shut behind her, and it's suddenly extremely quiet, no shuffle of cardboard, no loud sellotape ripping, no last-minute zipping of bags. Phil lets out a long breath.

"Do you want to drink all your sadness away?" Dan asks. "I hear it's cathartic in these kinds of situations."

Phil demurs, "I'm-"

"Please don't say fine," Dan intercepts. "Because that's all you've been saying, and I know you're not. Nobody would be. You're all mopey and it's making me mopey because you won't acknowledge the mope and you keep trying to pretend it's all good. If you don't wanna do it for yourself, do it for my peace of mind. You know how I worry."

Phil's mouth seems to quirk up on its own. "Alright then, Dan," he agrees. "Hit me."

It only takes half of the bottle of wine Lisa'd left in a back cupboard, really. Phil's lying on the carpet, looking up at the mini chandelier. "It's just," he's saying, and Dan hums from the sofa from where he's taken up residency, "it's just that I knew, you know, when I was still thinking about it. If you really love someone, if you really want to spend your whole life with them, would you still be thinking about following them to the ends of the earth?"

"Y'still gotta, y'know. Think about you," Dan says. _I'd follow you_ , his treacherous heart reminds him. _I would, I'd follow you anywhere._

Phil hums. "I know," he says. "Actually, I guess I knew when I didn't wanna talk it out with her. You should be able to. The person you love should be your best friend. You should be able to talk anything out with them. She used to be, you know. Now I really hate this chandelier."

So - there's that, and Dan knows Phil's still sad about it, in the weeks that follow: "Lisa loved this," he says, staring contemplatively at Minority Report in DVD, before shaking his head and moving on, or Audrey at work asks after her and Phil says: "Actually, um-"

But things get better; Phil stops staring off into the distance sadly and then snapping out of it and suggesting they go bowling or jogging something equally exercise-y and take your mind off things-y, he's back to normal and marathoning Netflix with Dan which is a relief because Dan's thighs still hurt from that one never-repeated yoga class, and then one early August day Dan's mum texts _coming up tmr SURPRISE!_

"The last conversation I had with her," Dan explains, "I told her me and mystery boyfriend were doing really well, yeah, sure you can meet him in a few months. I hadn't built up to that break up yet!"

"Oh, Dan," Phil says, shaking his head, "Dan, Dan, Daniel."

Dan looks at him despairingly, and continues looking at him, then considers him appraisingly.

"Dan," Phil says, in quite a different tone of voice. "Dan! No! I want your mum to like me!"

"She'll still like you!" Dan promises. "Phil! Please!"

"She won't like me once you tell her I've broken your heart!"

"All you have to do," Dan says, quite reasonably, he feels, "is just - act affectionate around me! That's all! Then I'll say we've broken it off amiably and we're still friends! It's fine!"

He hopes he's not being too enthusiastic about this. He hopes he's not being obvious.

Phil sighs and sighs louder and eats a bunch of crisps noisily in protest. Onscreen, Miyaka severs a huge chunk of neck. They both wince. This movie adaptation is quickly turning out to be just as gory as the anime, but irl CGI effects make it impossible to watch while eating. "Fine," he says, the sound of extreme reluctance, "but you better tell her I was the sweetest nicest best boyfriend you've ever had."

You could be, Dan could say, except he's a filthy coward. "Yes," he says, and snuffles his nose into Phil's ear. Phil, laughing, pushes him off.

 

Dan's mum turns up in a flurry of hellos and kisses and the lingering scent of jasmine she's had since Dan was a child. It still reminds Dan of running into her arms when she came back from work, sleepy Saturday mornings and the blueberry waffles she'd make. "Hi, my darling," she says, and tips his face down so she can peer into it. "Oh, you need more Vitamin D."

"Sunlight, Mum," Dan says. "You're telling me I have no life."

"Don't be so dramatic, darling," she chides. "Oh, hello there," for Phil's appeared at Dan's elbow, all nice polka dotted red and white shirt and bright smile. "Nice to meet you!"

"Hi, Mrs Howell, I'm Phil," Phil says, holding out his hand.

There's a slight pause; a heart-stopping moment when Dan's mum looks up at Phil and is silent and Dan thinks of the day he'd come out to her, the way she'd stared at him and said _I need some time_. But it's over in a heartbeat and she's saying "Oh, lovely," telling Phil not to be silly, to use her first name.

Lunch is a salad Dan's tossed and sushi Phil's brought. They have Ribena mixed with Sprite, and Phil delights her with stories from the radio, and when she asks, inevitably, "So you met on the job?" Dan draws a slight intake of breath, but Phil says smoothly, "Yeah, I only started the beginning of the year," and tells her about their first Mario Kart marathon and how competitive Dan is, and she laughs, agrees, "That's Dan through and through."

Phil's a better liar than Dan expected. "I'll do it, babe," he says, waving away Dan's attempt to bring his plate to the kitchen, "you bring your mum out to the lounge," and the pet name is so. It's so. It's clearly a lighthearted sort of aside to Dan, the ring of an inside joke _look how ridiculous I sound_ , but it sounds so easy, sliding off his tongue.

Dan's mum turns to Dan, eyes shining, once they've settled on the sofa. "He's lovely," she says, emphatic. Dan has to agree. "And you two are adorable! The way you bicker. Like an old married couple. The way you look at each other."

Dan wants to ask, _how do I look at him, is it really so obviou_ s, but he holds his tongue.

"I'm proud of you, my darling," she says, suddenly. "And I don't say it enough."

She holds him close, jasmine and warmth.

They wave her off, and Phil says, "it was so nice to finally meet you," and she says, "Pleasure was all mine, dear," and she's off, as abruptly as she'd arrived.

"She's really nice," Phil says, closing the door.

"When I told her I liked guys, she took three days," Dan blurts.

Phil walks carefully over to the sofa, sits and listens, and Dan wasn't really going to continue but something about Phil's steady, quiet attention makes him say: "I'd always thought of her love as unconditional, and for the first time, I worried that there were limits. She called me on the fourth day and talked about my brother's results, my grandad's first speeding ticket in forty years; she didn't mention it at all, nothing bad but no support, either."

Three days, and no amount of Harry Potter could've stopped Dan from the constant _I've fucked up I've fucked up I've fucked it all up_ on a loop in his head.

"This is the first time she's really been so - I mean that we've really acknowledged it, out loud," Dan says. "Which is why it was so important to me. Even if it's fake. To see her be happy for me - to see her be happy for me about this. So thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," Phil says. "And I wish it had been better before, but I'm glad she's trying. You deserve nothing less."

 

“Dan,” Phil says, “I think I need to move out. But I need someone to split the rent with.”

Dan squints at him. “Are you asking me something?"

Phil worries at his lip, shrugs. “It’s just an idea. I mean. You’re always going on about how you’ve never really had the time to make this place a home. I was just thinking-"

Dan found this apartment one and a half years ago, when he was reasonably sure he’d land the Breakfast Show (Nick having tipped him off, a gesture Dan’s always remembered) and celebrating by going out to look for a place with Chris, who, if nothing else, can always be counted on to be bluntly honest - about how ugly a place is, or if Dan can't afford it. He’s lived here for one and a half years, god, and he realises that he's never really unpacked those two boxes in the spare bedroom, or spent any time at all doing up the kitchen: no fridge magnets, kitchen gifts from friends and family still lying in their packaging, stashed away in various cabinets. This place is expensive without splitting the rent, and somewhere along the line he'd subconsciously decided not to properly live in it, and it's Phil who's asking Dan to live with him.

So that weekend they go apartment hunting. Which turns out to be a series of relatively short trips, because Phil's secretly been looking stuff up on Zoopla for a few weeks. Dan vetoes a location too close to his Aunt Jen, and the second place makes Phil sneeze violently for several minutes before they realise that the owner of the apartment above has eight cats and somehow Phil's nose has sensed that through the ventilation system. In the end they settle on a second floor apartment, unfurnished except for a giant wicker basket in Phil's bedroom which turns out to be the bed, a kitchen with a glass door that Phil promptly walks into, and a fireplace which clinches the deal for Dan, anyway. They move in the next weekend, and the first night they spend on mattresses under a blanket fort, watching Shameless on Dan's laptop.

 

Living with a person is a bunch of gradual learning experiences about them. Like how he eats your cereal late at night when he can’t sleep and you stumble into the kitchen sleepy-eyed having heard a noise and immediately assumed your death only to find him in socked feet against the counter with a spoonful of Kellogg’s finest halfway to his mouth. Or how he needs three towels for a shower and one of them inevitably has to be yours for some inexplicable reason, and he still manages to drip all over the floor. Or how on weekdays you awake to your curtains drawn all the way open and the sound of him in the shower, halfway through a rendition of My Heart Will Go On, assuring you that you are both going to be extremely late for work if you don’t get up right now.

Dan takes it in stride. Phil’s remarkably easy to live with. Phil makes a mean pasta carbonara. Phil’s messy, clothes all over the floor, but he does the laundry and puts Dan’s load in without him having to ask. Phil is someone to nonsensically bicker with at grocery stores, an extra set of keys when Dan forgets, a live-in Mario Kart partner. Dan sits on the floor against the fridge at 2 am and tells Phil to pass the cereal, shouts for a towel back when he’s in the shower, is early at work a record number of days (Nick and Fi affect expressions of amazement every single morning, the fuckers), and learns something new about him every day, learns how to fit their lives together.

And - and nothing happens. Dan still stares at Phil and shakes himself out of it when he notices; his heart still flips over when he sees him in the morning, yawning a greeting, soft edges and glasses; they do their Sunday run for groceries and Dan lets himself imagine what his life could be like, standing in the milk aisle and being able to stop Phil debating the merits of goat vs almond with a kiss; there are nights when Dan's thoughts skid into slippery places and he lets himself think of a darker-storm gaze and long fingers everywhere, and he comes with a quiet gasp and feels thoroughly ashamed of it in the morning. Phil's his friend, Phil's his best friend: the friend zone, if it was anything but a terribly-originated social construct to shame women into sex, is something they've somehow managed to drift into without him noticing (and it's probably never crossed Phil's mind, anyway). So it's fine. One day Dan will find someone, and so will Phil, and this crush will all be a silly memory Dan will be able to laugh to himself about. Or he'll die alone waiting for Phil. It's fine! It's fine.

"Is it," Nick says, drily.

"How much of that did you hear?" Dan asks.

"You singing the 'it's okay, it's alright' part of Promiscuous Girl for the last three minutes." Nick sighs, long-suffering about it. "I've been trying to talk through this whole song."

"You can still make it," Dan suggests as Troye hits up the last chorus.

"Oh, fine," Nick says. "They liked my X Factor stuff, offered me a show. Celebrities and such. BBC2." He sounds like he's trying extremely hard to be offhand, but his eyes are bright.

"Nick!" Dan says. "I'm so so so so so happy for you, Nick, fuck-"

"Dan's friend, Nick Fugg, has recently celebrated the birth of a healthy, happy child," Phil explains, Dan having missed the intro in his excitement. "Obviously."

Nick laughs. Dan says: "We're all so happy for him."

"We are," Phil agrees, giving Nick the thumbs up sign. "A good man, that one."

The good man himself corners Dan later, while Phil is talking to Fiona about some holographic thing issue problem Dan doesn't know he tunes out when it comes to the practical side of producing, and says: "You know you two're going to be co-hosts, right?"

"Wha- really!" Dan hasn't really thought about it at all. "Wait. You're really leaving?"

"I guess so," Nick says, drumming his knuckles on the wall. He looks excited, and like he's trying extremely hard not to show it. Dan's very proud of him. "You don't mind, right? 'Cause I could talk to them, it's just that they love your dynamic, but I know if I ever left you were supposed to have your own-"

"I'm perfectly, perfectly fine," Dan says, cutting him off. "Really. Fuck. Focus on being happy for yourself. Can you see me managing a show on my own? Really? Thought so. Yep. Plus, it's Phil," he says, when Nick concedes the point with an amused shake of his head. "It'll be great."

"My little twink, all grown," Nick says affectionately, and holds out his arms for a hug. By the time Phil comes out, still deep in conversation with Fiona, he's gone for lunch with Andre. Phil doesn't stop talking when he comes over to stand beside Dan, something to do with lights and poses and space, but he does lightly pinch the skin of Dan's elbow, all absent-minded gesture, hello. Dan leans into his space as he wraps up his conversation, pretends it means more than it does.

 

They announce it officially three weeks later, Fi promoted to main producer, Phil still producing but presenting full time, we love your chemistry, the listeners love it too, The Radio One Breakfast Show With Dan and Phil, congrats Nick, congrats to everyone, champagne bottles all around. The Wombats, years & years, people milling around to offer their congratulations; Greg thumps Dan on the back and it hurts less than it does on his ridiculously soft fragile skin because he's pleasantly buzzed, happily not-quite-sloshed.

"There you are!" El says, smushing her lips all over his cheek, "babe, babe," she's almost drunk too, and Dan laughs at her, wriggles out of her lipstick attack, "I'm so happy for everyone!" Through the lights (purple and blue, pulsing) they've set the room to, and the fizzy haze, he sees Phil crooking both a smile and a finger at him from across the room, a bowl of something in his hand. A head jerk to the side door.

"Be right back, Ellie," Dan says, planting a kiss on her hair, and he slips away before he can catch her reply. Phil's waiting for him right outside the door; he lifts the bowl: "Crisps," he says, "BBQ."

"Oh, yay," Dan says, fervently, making grabby hands at it.

"I leave you for five seconds, and you start drinking on an empty stomach," Phil admonishes, laughing and holding it out of reach. "C'mon." The next room, Dan remembers; the conference room, that first proper talk to Phil, _this guy is different, I like this guy_. Phil holds the door open and Dan goes straight to the projection screen: "I want Australia back," he says, "if you're breeding pandas, I'm breeding koalas."

"You can have Australia," Phil agrees, seriously. "I just wanted Japan. Come eat."

They don't sit in the fancy head-of chairs this time; they settle against the table's legs, and pass the bowl of crisps back and forth. They're on one of the highest floors, and this means city lights, glowing warm and Christmas-coloured, luminous. A plumper crescent moon sits on the topmost right corner. The Eye in the distance, well-beloved buildings rising up like sturdy pillars; the city, spread out before them, the year almost behind them with the promise of a good one ahead, and in that moment, perhaps, anything could be possible.

Dan turns to Phil, a half-formed question rising in his throat, and Phil's already looking back at him. Dan's stomach flips once, then back over. He can see the slight artificially orange crisp powdering on Phil's lips. He's never wanted anything more in his life than to lick it off. Phil's eyes are the same colour as the clouds against the night sprawled outside the glass windows, and they dart down, then up again.

The question comes out as: "Phil-" and Phil makes a soft, inarticulate noise in his throat, and his eyelashes are very close, all of a sudden, and-

And then Scott and Fi burst in, there you are, been looking for you for ages, picture time, too drunk to realise they're intruding on what could possibly be the Best Moment of Dan's Life, and he and Phil exchange a sort of embarrassed glance before they're shepherded out and given more drinks and thrown into a photobooth, 3, 2,1, flash-

They're too tired, hours (karaoke sessions, drinks, and too many photos) later, and too woozy - crisps really weren't enough - in the taxi that they only trade redundancies, -Keys? -Yeah, -God I could fall asleep right now, -Please don't we're three blocks away and I'm too weak to shake you awake, and then they stumble in, Dan fumbling with the lock. A brief, wide-awake moment at their respective bedroom doors when they turn back and look at each other and it could happen, it really could, they could talk this out they could cross that small space they could lean in and-

Dan yawns, long and huge and quite involuntary.

Phil chuckles, quiet. "G'night, Dan," he says.

"'Night," Dan says, suddenly exhausted again, and falls face first into bed, waking up three hours later to brush his teeth and kick off his shoes.

 

And then, quite abruptly, it's Christmas break, and Dan's packed and backpacked up, headphones around his neck and Frank Ocean's highly anticipated album fully downloaded, and Phil, who's leaving first, has his arms around his neck before Dan realises what's happening. Dan smells jasmine laundry detergent and cinnamon shampoo, warmth and closeness gone too soon and Phil's turning away and telling Dan to remember to lock up and say hi to everyone, but to his mum and Colin especially.

"Oh," Dan says into the space Phil's vacated. He grins, wide and giddy with it, and presses a closed fist to his mouth.

All in all, he has a pretty nice Christmas. His brother gives him GW merch and his grandma gives him Matilda tickets, because his mum has blabbed to her about Dan's boyfriend, of course she has. He ducks her questions on Phil and gets her started on the new neighbours, and luckily she seems to interpret it as him being shy and leaves it be because she starts talking about the huge ass boat Lucy's got in the driveway and how she has to look at it every single time she wants to do the washing.

Christmas itself begins with Phil texting him a family photo: Martyn's wearing a Santa hat, there's a colourfully and eccentrically decorated tree (think garage sale, lit up, very Lester) in the background, and their parents are beaming, and it's all adorable as all hell. Dan texts back the picture he'd taken last night of Colin in antlers, and Phil replies _djjndnjdcnjcdjAAAAHH_

he says _merry christmas_

_tell him merry christmas also that i love him to death and i'll see him SOON_

Dan's not gonna lie: he likes the sound of that, the promise in it.

His dad carves the roast beef and they all sit around, rubbing their stomachs and feeling quite at peace with the world and each other. Dan makes them all play Pictionary after because families should spend the holidays together, come on guys, and also the wifi's truly for shit today. His mum creates a Picasso version of a gourmet meal, his grandad's attempt at a rooster has them all in stitches, and Dan thinks, _this isn't bad._

It's been a good year. This isn't bad.

And when his mum hugs him goodbye before he gets on the train back to London and makes him promise to come back soon, Dan thinks he might, actually.

He finds Phil already on their lounge, fast asleep; he uncurls himself like a cat, stretches languidly when Dan comes in, says: "Hey!" says, "Do you know how hard it's been to wait for you? I've almost hit play like seven times, only we had a deal." The Sherlock Christmas special's on pause on their TV. Dan settles in beside him.

"Good Christmas?"

"Lovely Christmas," Phil says. "Missed your face." When Dan looks over, he's hitting play on Sherlock, the theme music visuals reflected in his glasses.

 

Their last radio show of the year's on a Friday, and the day before they come in to talk January with Bill and Audrey. Phil goes in ahead, because Dan's being waylaid by the rare fan who wants to take a pic; usually the ones that do are visiting from other countries, Londoners really treat them like they're nothing special. Dan catches up to Phil a few minutes later, finds him in conversation with Andre.

"-in the back?" Andre's saying.

"Yeah, it's all skewed."

"Is it the one who's always been interested in you?" Andre asks, smirking. "Maybe he wants you to go back to get it fixed."

"I'm sure he _doesn't_ ," Phil says.

"You should just ask him out," Andre says. Andre doesn't really talk to Phil much, as far as Dan knows, but they used to be pretty close before they moved to different departments of the BBC. "How long's it been since Lise, y'know? Get back in the game."

Phil shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "I'll think about it."

Dan exhales.

"Hey," Phil says, catching sight of him and smiling. "You ready?"

"Mhm," Dan says. "Hey, Andre."

Because it doesn't matter, does it, what had Dan been thinking - he's just going to wait forever for him, it's clear now, he's ended it with Lisa and he's still not interested, and this is just sad - it's been a year, give or take, waiting for something you can't have, someone you can't love, he's probably been imagining - whatever those moments were, making them out to be things they weren't, and this is just _sad_ -

_is hot friend still single_

_Yeh_ , Chris replies a few seconds later. He doesn't ask, either, what Dan's referring to, or why now, all of a sudden. _Jamie! Just broke up w bf. Again lol. U wanna??_

Dan presses his lips together, types _sure._

 

He's got his nice new shirt on, all swirly black and white pattern, and is just rolling his sleeves up and down for the fifth time in the mirror when Phil opens the front door. "Dan?"

"Room," Dan calls back, after a moment.

Phil comes in without knocking - not that it's ever closed -, slumps against Dan's headboard. "I was just about to leave - got a nice leg of lamb, by the way, dinner tomorrow maybe - and this lady with this huge Alsatian asked me if I'd watch him, she'd pop right in and out, and I said sure, of course, and as soon as she goes in I swear he begins growling at me - you look nice," he interrupts himself. "Going somewhere tonight?"

Dan takes a breath, decides on sleeves up, turns around. "Yeah, actually," he says. "Got a date."

"A date," Phil repeats.

"A date," Dan agrees.

"-Oh," Phil says, looking a little thrown. Does he really seem like the kind of guy who could never get a date, Dan wonders a little melodramatically. "That's nice. With who?"

"Chris' friend," Dan says. "Uh, Jamie."

"That's nice," Phil says, again. There's an awkward little pause where he fiddles with Dan's sheets and Dan fiddles with his right sleeve. "You look - you look really nice."

"Thanks."

"I'm just gonna - have a nice time." Phil gets up. "Or other similar words that are in my vocabulary." He brushes imaginary lint off his jeans. "Call me if you need anything?"

"Okay," says Dan.

 

Jamie holds the restaurant door open for Dan, asks if he's got any allergies, cracks a bad pun involving shellfish when they're perusing their menus then apologises for it, laughing.

"I forgive you," Dan assures him.

"Thanks," Jamie says. "Most people don't. Hey, you've got a little-"

He reaches over and wipes it away with a napkin, which is such a move, but Jamie's nice enough and cute enough and sincere enough that it's just awkwardly charming. Dan thinks about what he'll tell Phil, later - Phil who'd probably say _I hope you weren't all weird at him in response._

_I'll have you know I was very elegant and flirty_ , Dan defends himself, then realises he's talking to the Phil _in his head._

"D'you wanna perhaps get out of here?" Jamie asks.

"Oh, uh," Dan says. "Maybe - I mean, not tonight, Jamie, I'm sorry. You've been wonderful."

He takes a roundabout walk home, stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries very hard not to feel sorry for himself and his horrible love life and how he really will end up alone because his dates keep getting ruined because Phil's such a looming presence in Dan's life without even trying; he'd entered it and filled it up and never left and really, what is Dan going to do now, he's going to be the sad old uncle who looks on wistfully at Phil's and an unknown partner's kids thinking they could've been mine, and the kids are going to be so weirded out because of course Dan will be unable to leave Phil alone even in their declining years if it means he can still be around him, can still bask in his presence and _really_ -

He races up the last few steps of their apartment; with that same burst of adrenaline, finds Phil in the kitchen, wine and munching on a huge marshmallow.

"I'm not even gonna ask about the marshmallow," Dan says. "Look-" when Phil tries to speak- "wait, let me just - I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself when you get married and I'm the best man and I never said it and it's not just going to happen if I don't just say it, so. Yeah. I like you. I like you. Up to the point of, y'know, the other thing. This doesn't have to change anything, we can pretend it never happened, in fact, I'm begging you to pretend it never happened-" his feet are backing him out of the kitchen- "so I'm just going to go to bed and you're not going to talk to me about it ever again and we'll still be friends in the morning we can blame it all on the frog's something Jamie ordered. Bye, Phil," and when Phil opens his mouth again, " _bye_ , Phil!"

The next morning, Phil's up before him, which isn't surprising, but he isn't busy stealing Dan's cereal, which is. He's nursing a cup of coffee quietly, steam clouding his glasses up, oh cruel alternate life where Dan could go over and swipe a thumb over the lens and duck in and kiss him, and he's made Dan toast.

"Hi," he says.

Dan avoids his eyes. Early morning eyes, same colour as the cloudless sky outside. "Hi. Toast. Thanks."

There's a pause. Phil says: "Dan-" and Dan panics, snatches up the earphones he's brought out for this very purpose. "We don't wanna be late for work," he says. "It's time! To go. You know how much I love being early for work. Speaking of things I love, Kanye-" pressing play on Kanye crooning _my godsister getting married by the lake_ so that it's loud enough that Phil can hear, backing out of the kitchen for the second time in twelve hours but not fast enough that he can't see Phil's sigh.

Kanye plays in Dan's ears as a precaution all throughout the trip, and Phil is fiddling with his phone anyway, typing something rapidly at an angle which Dan can't peek at. Probably texting their landlord that he wants out. Dan really can't blame him. _Life's just not fair_ , Kanye laments. Dan knows the feeling.

He has to replace the earphones with headphones when they're in the studio; Phil's quietly speaking to Fiona on the other side of the glass; Nick's scrolling through Twitter on his iPad. Dan sits quietly, rolls his macchiato between his palms, misses the ease of his friendship with Phil already. "In three, two, one," Fiona says eventually, and Dan bids Britain a very good morning and a good December the 30th.

"End of the year, lot of reflection, thinking about the past, looking forward to the future," he says, "and we're going to talk about resolutions..."

"Oh, we can do that tomorrow," Phil interrupts brightly, which is enough of a surprise that Dan's momentarily silenced, because Phil out of everyone is a person who Sticks With The Plan. Nick raises his eyebrows, but gives an indulgent shrug to himself, too used to this already. "I thought maybe today we'd talk about why this year didn't suck. So tweet us with the hashtag #ThisYearDidntSuckBecause: it could be a new pet, or a promotion, or just happy little positive things."

"Or text or call in, you know the numbers," Nick adds.

"News beat with Tina Dehaley!" Dan says, and takes off his headphones. "Phil?"

Phil makes a flappy gesture at him with one hand; the other's still scrolling or something, his eyes fixed on his phone screen. "You'll see," he says, and he might be talking to his phone or Dan, Dan isn't sure.

Nick shrugs at Dan again, then settles more comfortably in his seat as Taylor finishes up, with the interested air of a man on the sidelines waiting for the Fun Shit to go down. Dan can see him wink at Fiona. Dan really hates him.

"That was Taylor Swift with the first song off her new album! So we were talking about why this past year didn't suck," Nick says. "It was a pretty good year for me, job opportunity wise, etc, but I also got to spend much more time with my family, which I liked. I don't think my mum was very appreciative though; third visit of the year and she suspiciously asked me what I was up to, hanging about the house so much. Phil! You look like you have something to say."

Dan can't really help but peek at Phil then, and Phil's looking right back at him. "Yeah, well, you know, I met Dan this year. That didn't suck." He laughs, and it sounds a bit? shaky? "The first time I met him, I was really sort of nervous, 'cause I'd been listening to him on the radio, and he's, y'know, really smart and funny and sarcastic, so it was sort of like, ha, wow, please like me I am but a lowly producer. But, like, I met him. And now I know he just sits all day in his Winnie the Pooh pajamas when he doesn't have to work and he's really insanely competitive at Mario Kart and has way too many thoughts on Formula One than is necessary and he whips up a mean risotto and buys me lactose free milk without me having to ask and he pep talks me into doing things I'd never try without him and he's probably the best person I know, and he's. He's my best friend." Red-wined up, Phil's eyes hazy but voice clear: _the person you love should be your best friend._

And Dan allows himself to hope, a little sapling of it, a starburst in his chest.

"I loved this year," Phil says, "because I met Dan in it. And if he stops being ridiculous and gets his head out of his ass, sorry Fi, and stops Kanye long enough that I'm able to talk to him, I'll make sure he knows exactly how much it didn't suck for me."

He does his little questioning twist of the mouth thing at Dan, who can feel himself dimpling, and he can hear Nick saying, "wow, well, Fi it's not the New Year yet so you owe me some money. Is it even worth asking you guys to tweet in with the hashtag anymore because I know you'll all be using it to ask what is going on in the studio right now? No, so this is Zayn Malik's first single, all lust and longing, incredibly appropriate, this is the Radio One Breakfast Show."

Dan takes his headphones off. Phil's already out of the room. Dan stares around for a beat, and Nick inclines his head, _go_ , and Fiona actually mouths the word, and Dan bolts out of his chair.

Phil's in the corridor. How incredibly appropriate.

"You going to start Kanye on me again?" Phil asks.

"Depends," Dan says. "How long?"

Phil smiles. "Longer than I realised," he says. "Oh, definitely when your mum came around and I let myself think about it properly, as a possibility. And then I couldn't stop thinking about kissing you."

"Yeah?" Dan says.

Phil bites his lip. "You're dimpling," he says. In what is quite possibly the best moment of Dan's life, he reaches out and presses his thumb to it. "Did you know that the freckles beside it make your dimple look like a sad face?"

It's an extremely Phil observation. Dan can't stop smiling. He thinks he probably won't be able to stop, like, forever.

"Yeah," Phil says, letting his other fingers brush Dan's neck. Spilling-over fizziness in Dan's stomach, fireworks in Dan's chest.  "Very much yeah, Dan," he says, and finally, finally, leans in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the epilogue left!


	4. epilogue

"Daniel, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my loins," Phil says, "we have to go, please."

"He's a lost cause, he's only just getting started on his hair, " Bryony says. "Phil, you might as well take a seat."

"This is important!" Dan says. "This is our first proper party as a couple! It means something. I'm making a statement."

Dan can see Phil surveying him doubtfully in the mirror's reflection. "I highly doubt whether the decision between the black skinny jeans or the really really dark grey skinny jeans will make much of a difference to that statement."

"It's a lost cause, Phil," Wirrow agrees, slinging an arm around Bryony's shoulders as she sits down next to him. "You might as well watch an episode of Scandal with us."

"Dan, I'll rim you tonight if we leave within the next five minutes," Phil says.

Dan meets his eyes in the mirror. "You know what, I look plenty good," he decides, putting the hairspray down.

Bryony makes an incredulous noise. 

"You know, if we'd known that was all it took," Wirrow says.

Miraculously, they're ten minutes early when they hurry out of the taxi and knock on the door.

"Ha," Fred says, swinging the door open, "ha! Laura, look what the cat dragged in!"

Retirement suits Fred; his cheeks are ruddier and his hydrangeas are flourishing. Dan lets himself be pulled into a hug while Phil passes the chocolates to a beaming Laura; "Sorry, sorry," Fred says, about to let Dan go, and Dan just hugs him back. In the lounge, Ant's trying a Les Mis duet with Nick. Fiona and El greet them cheerfully; in the kitchen, Andre and Audrey wave.

Phil whispers, "c'mon," nodding at the back door, and Dan says, "this isn't quite a party," but he's already following Phil anyway.

"It's tradition," Phil says, "and almost an anniversary."

Fred's done away with the chairs to make room for a tomato patch; they sit on the kitchen step instead, their thighs pressed against each other. Dan smiles up at the sky; "hey," he says, "Did you know Chris spent New Year's in fucking Albuquerque? He just told me today. I swear I don't know half the things he gets up to."

"That's Chris for you," Phil says, passing Dan his phone.

Lisa Engleham, the iMessage thread reads, and the text from earlier today reads: Happy New Year! balloon emoji, picture of her and a Scottish terrier.

Happy new year Lise, Phil's answer reads, and a selfie he'd randomly asked Dan to take with him hours ago. I think yours is better trained.

Lisa'd only replied a few minutes ago: ADORABLE. tell Dan i said hi! Xx

"Do you miss her?" Dan asks, giving Phil his phone back.

Phil thinks for a bit. "I miss her friendship," he says. "I miss being able to talk to her about the latest Tom Cruise movie. She used to be my best friend. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," Dan says, honestly. "Tell her I say hi back."

Phil types it out, then pockets the phone. "Hey," he says, nudging his shoulder against Dan's, "can you believe it's been a year already?"

Dan's already got Phil's birthday gift. Dan's got the receipt of their first sushi lunch stashed away in a drawer in his room (neglected mostly, these days; Phil's room has a tv and warmer sheets somehow and Phil). Dan finds Phil in the kitchen and buries his face in Phil's shoulder and breathes him in as a good morning. Dan, who doesn't like to think about the terrifying future more than is absolutely necessary, is already vaguely throwing out ideas for their first anniversary in his head. Dan doesn't really mind; Dan gets to wake up every morning and remember that he is in love with his best friend.

"Nope," Dan says. "Kiss me," he demands, which is an I love you he hasn't quite worked up the nerve to verbalise yet.

Phil smiles. His eyes are dark in the night sky, and Dan's a teenager, but they're brighter than the stars. "I love you," he tells Dan, which is an I love you verbalised and signed off on, and he complies with Dan's order and kisses him and kisses him to make it official.

**Author's Note:**

> * what dan and phil really text each other, the amazing book is not on fire, dan and phil 2015 all rights reserved etc etc 
> 
> man! it's finally done! pls comment below or come find me on tumblr to tell me what u think! this was in my drafts forever and i was thinking it'd stay there but i promised myself i'd finish it even if i wasn't 100% happy with it i'd finish it and i _have_ yay


End file.
